Growing up, my world seemed perfect. A beautiful home, doting parents, and affectionate siblings painted a picture of idyllic family life. But behind the glossy veneer lurked a darker reality: Financial struggles, a philandering father, and a mother who became the sole pillar of our family.
Mum single-handedly raised the three of us on very little money. She didn’t believe in handouts or asking for help. There were days we’d live on sausages and beans or instant noodles and fried eggs. While she worked (and studied) to finance the household and pay off my father’s credit card debts, he pulled away further from us, finding work overseas. Eventually, we discovered he had another wife who bore him two children. When he was asked to pick only one family, he chose them over us. It broke my mum so badly, she fled the country after the divorce to find herself.
Even as older children, we felt abandoned and blamed ourselves for their fractured marriage. These early wounds cast a long shadow over my future relationships. I was drawn to misogynists; guys who made me feel very small and ugly. I had very low self-esteem and became very needy, clinging onto relationships that were doomed to fail. When I was dating my now-husband, he would constantly remind me that he never wanted children. I should have seen this as a red flag, but because of the childhood baggage I carried, I desperately wanted this relationship to work. So I settled.
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THE STRUGGLE IS REAL
Seven years into the marriage, we remained child-free, but the ache to be a mother was too overwhelming to bear. The fights would escalate into threats of divorce. Grudgingly, he gave in, and that’s when the real test of my endurance happened. I was 36, and as luck would have it, I didn’t have much luck conceiving. It took one fibroid-removal surgery and two miscarriages to finally arrive at a healthy pregnancy at 40.
My lifelong dream of becoming a mother was finally happening, and I was the happiest I had ever been. But was I really prepared to parent this little human? I didn’t exactly have happy, functional parents as ideal role models. “No one knows what they’re doing, really. You just wing it,” a friend once told me. And wing, I did. When Baby T was born, I just went with the flow. For the first few months, life was like the movie Groundhog Day, where everything was on a wash-rinse-repeat cycle. I didn’t know day from night and lived in different variations of sleeping attire and nursing bras. Going out and parading my newborn around didn’t seem appealing to me. I just wanted to cry and sleep, in that order.
During those times, I was grateful to have friends who made it a point to check in with me from time to time. It was almost like they could hear my pleas for help. I also found joining parent support groups on Facebook very useful when confronted with tough parenting decisions like which teat size to buy or how to sleep train.
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PANGS OF REGRET
I believed everyone when they said it would get better. And while it did (I aced the breastfeeding game and overcame the fear of bath time), I started to lose my identity. I didn’t recognise that tired, swollen face staring back at me in the mirror. And whoever said breastfeeding helps you lose weight is probably lying, because I gained another 10kg after childbirth and have not been able to lose it since.
Now, as a seven-year-old, T’s temper has become explosive. Every time he throws a tantrum, I want to do murderous things to him. But then he will say the funniest thing, and I’d forget why I was angry in the first place. I call him my little boyfriend because we go through this rollercoaster relationship where I hate him one second and love him the next—every day. It’s thrilling and exhausting at the same time. I don’t know how my mother did this by herself with three children. I already struggle with one. I cannot even fathom how parents whose children have developmental delays or special needs manage.
Honestly, there are days I regret my decision to have a child, but I think this stems from a general lack of support from my husband. And I’m not alone in this—there’s a very active chatroom on Reddit filled with disillusioned parents who are close to giving up.
In my case, this growing bitterness is a reaction toward my husband’s resentment of being given a role he never wanted. He’s been a fantastic dad—don’t get me wrong. He never complains about helping T with Chinese homework, or paying for tuition, and is always happy to assume the playmate role. But this funny, self-deprecating man I fell in love with 20 years ago has mentally checked out of the marriage. He’s done some incredibly hurtful things to punish me emotionally, so I’ve had to make the choice to end things.
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LIFE LESSONS
The biggest lesson I’ve learnt is that, as much as having children is beautiful and a blessing, it's not for everyone, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. For people who have experienced personal trauma, it pays to seek help to purge your inner demons, or you might find yourself projecting your issues onto your little ones. Case in point: Just the other day, I made my son feel bad for choosing to sleep with his father.
More importantly, starting a family is something that both partners must agree on or you’re forced into a lifelong commitment that can raze the marriage to the ground. I had genuinely hoped for a better outcome, mostly because I didn’t want T to go through the trauma I did as a child. And I definitely don’t want him to think it’s his fault that his parents don’t love each other. I believe that even if T never came into the picture, we would have divorced eventually.
Now, as I plan for the next chapter in my life as a single mother, I am filled with both trepidation and hope. The path ahead is uncertain, but I’m determined to create a loving and stable environment for my child. At least, I know I’ll have the full support of my tribe, my girlfriends, and family—the gleaming silver lining that keeps me going strong.